


Eupalaestrus campestratus

by Dusty_Forgotten



Series: Arachnophobia [2]
Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015), Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Alternate Universe, Bugs & Insects, Crime Drama, Forensics, M/M, Police Brutality, alcohol use
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-03
Updated: 2017-01-03
Packaged: 2018-09-14 13:03:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,086
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9182953
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dusty_Forgotten/pseuds/Dusty_Forgotten
Summary: Kylo gives up on the deadbolt. He just remembered, he didn’t lock it. He sighs— a foggy smudge, because it’s getting fucking colder— closes his eyes, and bites the bullet he’s thinking of putting in Hux’s foot. “Do you want to come in for a beer or somethin’?”Porch step squeaks. “Depends. Definesomething?”“Water, pop…” God, it’s freezing out. He scrubs his hands together, looks over his shoulder. “Jack Daniel’s.”The collar of Hux’s coat is up around his ears, and he eyes the driveway what would seem longingly, if it weren’t for the absence of now-visible breath. “What is that, eighty proof?”Kylo shrugs, shoves the door open. It’s warmer inside.Hux mutters something like, “Feckin’ lightweight,” as he brushes by.





	

“Am I being detained?”

The officer holds up a finger, but won’t make eye contact. “Just a few more questions for you, sir.”

“Mitaka, I’m not playing this game with you,” Kylo asserts. Caution tape and construction lights are nothing out of the ordinary to Kylo, and the detectives are out of their damn minds if they think interrogation tactics are new, either. He was a cop before he was CSI; he knows every trick in the book. He beat people with the fucking book.

It’s late, and it’s cold, and he can still hear the goddamn maggots. Slowly, lowly, “Am I being detained?”

Mitaka— and see, Kylo knows his name only because Mitaka sure as  _ hell _ remembers his— shrinks in on himself, just a little, in just the way Kylo was addicted to back when he had the badge. “It’s nothing personal, sir. You were the first person to discover it, you didn’t make the report right away, and it’s too early in the investigation to have any other suspects.” There’s an apology in his embarrassed smile. “You know how it is, sir.”

Kylo leans in, and Mitaka takes a step back. “Innocent until proven guilty. So, unless I’m being detained…?” The officer’s only response is a dry swallow. “I’m going home.”

  
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ 

It’s all Hux’s fault, when you think about it.

He comes down to look at some bugs, and he calls in a body. Kylo should’ve been the one to call— he wouldn’t have been under suspicion if he’d made the call— he would’ve called, as soon as he stopped gagging. He  _ would. _ Hux said he was going to watch the scene while Kylo showed the officers the way, but he was gone when they got there.

He’s probably home by now, having an evil laugh while he pets his spider, toasting Phasma on their mutual douchebaggery, and of course he—

He’s on Kylo’s porch.

Swaying on the old bench swing, elbow on the armrest, cigarette smouldering absently in his other hand. He’s like a fucking oil painting, and the ember on his cigarette is the infrared to see the next draft down.

He stubs it on one of the seat slats. “Are you going to let me in, or what?”

“Right, yeah,” he grumbles, taking the creaking four steps, “vampires need to be invited in, don’t you?”

“Is this because I’m Irish? Redhead, pale skin— it’s because I’m Irish.” He flicks the butt of his cigarette into a pile of leaves Kylo’s been meaning to sweep off the porch since fall. “Arsehole…”

Kylo heads to the door, trying to differentiate between his keys. The dark doesn’t help, but he never uses his porch light. In the middle of nowhere, all it does is attract bugs. “You’re the one making yourself at home on my property.”

Half-rusted chains holding up the swing groan as Hux stands. Kylo hasn’t used that thing in years. “You got my hopes up.”

He jams a key in the lock it doesn’t fit, and doesn’t watch Hux get his car keys out.

If Hux were just a little worse, it wouldn’t hurt to see him hurt. As it is…

Kylo gives up on the deadbolt. He just remembered, he didn’t lock it. He sighs— a foggy smudge, because it’s getting fucking colder— closes his eyes, and bites the bullet he’s thinking of putting in Hux’s foot. “Do you want to come in for a beer or somethin’?”

Porch step squeaks. “Depends. Define  _ something? _ ”

“Water, pop…” God, it’s freezing out. He scrubs his hands together, looks over his shoulder. “Jack Daniel’s.”

The collar of Hux’s coat is up around his ears, and he eyes the driveway what would seem longingly, if it weren’t for the absence of now-visible breath. “What is that, eighty proof?”

Kylo shrugs, shoves the door open. It’s warmer inside.

Hux mutters something like, “Feckin’ lightweight,” as he brushes by. Kylo weighs down one side of his coat rack, hoping it doesn’t fall apart, as he has every winter since he moved out here. Hux’s remains over his shoulders.

“Cute,” Hux casts, flopping down on the twill sofa. “Got your fireplace, and your open kitchen, nice little oven to cook children in…”

Kylo rolls his eyes, opening the pantry in said kitchen. “And where the hell do you live?”

“An apartment, like any respectable bachelor.”

“I don’t care for the noise,” Kylo defends, pouring a couple fingers for Hux, and trying to remember where he left his bottle opener.

“By that you mean neighbours, correct?” He chuckles. “You’re a regular hermit, aren’t you?”

It was in with his utensils, for some reason. Kylo takes his beer, Hux’s whiskey, and wonders if he should bring the bottle. “And you were completely prepared to fuck me…”

There’s a long-suffering sigh from the living room. Fuck. Hux wasn’t supposed to hear that.

He takes the bottle in the end, because no way that ectomorph has a higher tolerance than Kylo, and he’ll prove it if he has to. Sets it all out on the coffee table, but stays standing, because that sofa’s the only piece of furniture in the room, and he doesn’t need to be any closer to the creepy bug guy tonight. Hux takes his glass, drains it in one long pull, and returns it to the water-ringed table.

Kylo leans on the wall between a pair of bookshelves with more knick-knacks than actual books. “Rough day?”

He twists the glass until it lines up with a stain already left. “Do you know why I’m here, Ren?”

“Uh, yeah, to jump my bones.” Swirls his Sam Adam’s, but doesn’t sip, because Hux took two fingers— of Tennessee whiskey;  _ holy shit, get your mind out of the gutter— _ without wincing. Kylo stopped trying to convince himself Hux doesn’t intimidate him when he stuck his hand in live maggots. “Joke’s on you, we found actual bones…”

Hux pulls his legs under himself, eliminating some of his entitled sprawl, although he’s already taken his shoes off. “I haven’t spoken to the cops yet, you know.”

“Lucky you,” Kylo retorts, and takes a long sip, because his beer’s getting warm.

“I’ll have to in the morning, of course. I’m sure to be called in to take a look at that poor sod we found tonight, and they’ll ask me all about what happened…” Hux eyes at the bottle of whiskey, which is still mostly full, and his glass, which is the opposite.

“Go for it,” Kylo grumbles.

Hux shifts his gaze to the bookshelves, scanning the titles and deliberately avoiding Kylo before he pours himself another glass of Jack. He’s so goddamn self-important, he’s gotta pretend he wasn’t waiting for permission. Fucking typical. “I just—” Hux twists the top back on, crosses his legs when he sits back with glass in hand— “can’t seem to recall…” He holds the glass close to his eyes, like he’ll be able to read the firelight through the caramel colour of cheap whiskey. Takes a sip, twitches a frown, squints down into the tumbler like he expects an apology. He rests the glass on his thigh, turns his attention back to Kylo. “Remind me?”

Kylo puts his beer on the bookshelf, beside a brittle and broken raccoon skull and in front of the college textbooks he bought, for some stupid reason. “Remind you of  _ what? _ ”

Hux blinks, slowly. “What you want me to tell the detectives.”

That sly, sleazy, sneaky son of a bitch. Is that what he’s trying to do? Kylo crosses his arms and stalks towards the sofa. “What’s wrong with the truth?”

“Don’t like neighbours, do you?”

“That so, Captain Obvious?”

Hux holds his eyes. “No neighbours, no one to hear the screams. You’re the only one for miles, Ren. If they’re looking for a violent man out in these woods in the middle of the night, they’ve found him.”

“I didn’t fucking kill anybody!”

“ _ I _ know that!” He rolls his eyes, like it’s  _ so fucking obvious. _ Doesn’t even flinch. “You have an intense aversion to insects, and no one would have found that body if you hadn’t shown me, which no capable killer would do… Unless this is some sort of murderous courtship, in which case, I’m flattered.”

“Great,” Kylo mutters, ignoring him. “Everyone at the station thought I was a serial killer  _ before _ this…”

“You don’t exactly discourage the perception.” Hux brings the glass back to his lips, scans the mantle decor like he has nothing better to do. Kylo’s hit with a gut-tugging frustration when he lowers it again without taking a sip. “You know that file’s public record, don’t you?”

Thank fuck he left his drink on the shelf, or there would be glass shards stabbed into his hand and on his floorboards right now. Wouldn’t be the first time. “… What file?”

Hux actually, honestly,  _ scoffs. _ “Don’t act stupid, Ren, it doesn’t suit you.” He takes a sharp sip, and brushes a wrinkle out of his trousers. “ _ Your _ file, from when you were a public servant, therefore making it public record? You know, with all your commendations and scores and that one time you shot a man with his hands up—”

“That’s not what fucking happened!”

Hux, like a proper asshole, puts his hands in the air— though with a glass in one— and nags, “Well don’t shoot the messenger! Said it was public record, didn’t I?”

Kylo stabs a finger at him, and wishes he could just stab the son of a bitch. “Shut your fucking mouth if you want to keep your jaw together.”

He lowers the tumbler, coat lost over the back of the couch. “You don’t scare me, Ren.”

A clock ticks from the corner of the mantle— some banged-up bargain that was made to sit above a fireplace— and Hux is so still, Kylo thinks he’s scared stiff. Then he steps closer, and Hux clenches his his grip on the glass, like he’s gonna take it with him when he runs.

That, or crack Kylo over the head with it.

“You sure about that?” Kylo goads, because he wants Hux to be lying. Doesn’t know what to do if he’s not.

He doesn’t blink, this time. “Positively.” He cracks a smile, shifts forwards as he settles. “Our faces are rather close together, by the way. Have you noticed that?”

Kylo’s calf bangs against the coffee table when he takes a literal step back. 

A creak of the couch springs, a button click, and a newscaster describing the weather. Hux, curled up on his sofa like he pays fucking rent, types in the guide channel— that’s still airing? “What are you doing?”

“Trying to find something to watch. What’s it look like?”

Kylo blinks at just the audacity, before he’s swiping the remote back. “Oh no. You’re going home.”

“What, me?  _ Drive? _ Are you kidding?” Hux snickers, sipping his second serving of Jack Daniel’s. “No no, I’m drunk.”

Stepping in front of the television only makes Hux sprawl out across the sofa to see around him. “What the fuck are you planning to do, just crash on my couch?”

Hux grins up at him. “How kind of you to offer. I accept.”

Kylo looks to the raccoon skull on his bookcase for some sort of solidarity, because he honestly can’t fucking  _ believe _ this guy. Even the Sam Adam’s is sweating.

“Channel two!” Hux begs as it scrolls onto the screen. “Turn it to channel two!”

“What? Why?”

“CSI’s on!”

Glancing over his shoulder, Kylo finds that is, in fact, the listing for channel two. “Really? That show’s such bullshit.”

“ _ I _ know that, and  _ you _ know that, which means we get to make fun of it for  _ not _ knowing that.”

That’s not a half-bad idea, actually. Fuck Hux for having good ideas, and being stupidly proud of them. Kylo jams the two button, drops the remote directly on Hux, and retrieves his beer, because holy fuck, does he need it.

“Come now, I’m not running you off your own sofa, am I?” Kylo gestures vaguely to the thoroughly occupied piece of furniture. Hux scrunches up just enough that another person could theoretically fit in the space. “Contrary to popular belief, sitting next to me won’t attract any more insects than you normally do.”

Oh, he’s gonna regret this— Kylo decides, wedging himself between the arm of the couch and Hux’s shins— and he absolutely does, when a TV DNA database yields a 99% match to a driver’s licence photo, and Hux kicks him as they laugh.


End file.
